


The one Weasley daughter

by narwhals_and_towers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Gender Dysphoria, Self-Harm, Trans Ginny Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:56:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narwhals_and_towers/pseuds/narwhals_and_towers
Summary: Ginny was always jealous of her brothers, but is there more to this jealousy than just family rivalries? Oneshot





	The one Weasley daughter

**Author's Note:**

> once off, bit of a mess sorry.

ginny weasley had always fit in with her brothers perfectly. She was perfectly happy hanging out with all her brothers every day, doing whatever they did, dressing relatively masculine, just chilling with her brothers. When she turned eleven and got her Hogwarts letter, she’d never felt so elated. She was finally going to the school her brothers had always loved and talked about. But her Hogwarts experience for the first few years hadn’t been quite right. Not the same. She loved hangng out in the common room, and playing quiddich, but there was something not quite right about her robes. Some strange feeling in her gut when she went up to the girls dormitory. But she waved the feelings away, focussed on making new friends and studying. She almost never spent any time alone with nothing to distract herself. Some days she would sneak into her brothers dorm and steal some of his clothes, then change alone in the quiddich change rooms, before grabbing her broom and just flying round and round. She wasn’t quite sure why she liked it so much. Just something about the same school experience as he’d had. There was something wrong with being the only weasley girl in the family. But she lived with it, blaming the feelings on not living the life she’d heard her brothers were living. Nobody had to know she was jealous of them. She couldn’t imagine what the twins would do if they found out how stupid she was. There were days when she nearly told Hermione about the feeling she got. About that hatred she felt about her clothes, hair, body. There was something not right about being the only Weasley girl. The weasley’s had short red hair. That was just the way it was meant to be. It was just as inevitable as having a million freckles, or shabby books and clothes.  
But the real torture began when she was just turned 14. The feeling she got when she looked in the mirror was getting stronger as she got older. After every night of DA she would come home and cry, wish she wasn’t stuck in that stupid dormitory while Ron got to sleep in the other one. She would tear her nails along her wrist. After a day of class she would tear off her bra and hate her brothers for not needing to wear them. Being a Weasley boy would have been so much easier. As things got harder to stand, she became more and more jealous. And she hated herself more. Her body just looked wrong. She stared in the mirror for hours recoiling. She tore her nails along her arm to distract herself. But her nails were noting. Her nails were weak. Blunt. Incapable of doing any real damage. That night at dinner, she finished her meal and snuck a knife into her pocket.  
Ginny sat on her bed, running over the knife with a sharpening spell, when the was a knock on the door. Hastily, she grabbed the blade, and shoved it into the draw where she kept some of rons old robes she’d stolen that summer. Often she’d wear them when she was alone in the ground.  
“come in”, she called, in her awfully feminine voice.  
The door swung open a little, and in walked Hermione. Hermione wasn’t in Ginny’s dormitory, so her entrance took the Weasley by surprise.  
“what’s going on.” Said Hermione, in the very straight forward way only Hermione could.  
“what do you mean?” Ginny asked.  
“you’ve never been this quiet. There’s something up.”  
Ginny looked at Hermione with a face that, she hoped, said ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’. Apart from the knife in her draw, she had nothing to hide. There was, of course, her jealousy of her brothers, but that was just the usual willingness to be as good as older siblings.  
“No? there’s not. I’m fine, really.”  
I’m fine. That wasn’t a lie, was it. There was nothing in particular wrong with her at all. She was just a little bit jealous and kind of wanted to cut herself. No big deal. It was just one or two cuts, that was all she was going to do, just to see what it felt like.  
Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ginny.  
“alright. I’ll leave you to your own devices. But I’m here if you ever do want to talk.”  
The girl smiled a watery smile, and left. Ginny instantly returned to her draw, and pulled out the blade, as she ran her finger along the cool metal, she began to have fantasies of blood and pain. Images of her bedspread stained with ruby red, of her trunk seeped with colour. She promised herself not to cut that deep as she thumbed the blade. She could, if she wanted to. Turning the handle, she noted how it felt in her palm, and pulled it adjacent to her lower arm. It sting a little as she pulled it across. It was a strangely liberating feeling. Quite a homely pain. She adjusted its position, and slid the blade along again. Once, twice, three times, four. Each cut was shallow, innocent. Soon, there were lines along the whole inside if her arm. And yet, she didn’t feel any different. After a few minutes of rummaging through her trunk, she tore a stip of fabric off an old set of robes and wrapped it round her wrist to control the blood. She slid the knife back into a drawer and slipped on a long sleeved pyjama top to hide the damage to her arm. She didn’t feel at all more like Ron. The cutting hadn’t helped. But it was a coping method, a distraction. And in time, it became something to look forward to.  
3 months later, at breakfast, when Ginny was reaching over to get something at the breakfast table, the sleeve of her robes, which were getting too small, slid a little to reveal the beginning of a sea of scratches and scars on her wrist. Yet again, it was Hermione who noticed. She tried to grab Ginny’s arm in the air, but Ginny was faster. She had started playing seeker in place if Ron, and had practice at moving her arm quickly.  
“what was that?” Hermione demanded.  
Ginny held her hand firmly over her wrist, pulling her sleeve well lower than needed, and swiftly said that it was nothing, blaming crook shanks. She was starting to try to make the cuts less frequent, starting to feel the cutting rather like the diary from her second year. Possessive. One night, she deftly returned the knife to the great hall, but that night the urge got too strong, and she found herself separating the blades from her razor. She spent hours simply staring at the blade, begging herself not to use it. Finally, she made one small scratch, just enough to draw blood, and drpped the scattered pieces of razor into her draw. The blood didn’t help. She was starting to hate herself more and more. Her hips were day by day becoming more prominent, while her chest because less and less flat. That was fine, obviously. Just because her body shape wasn’t the same as her brothers, it didn’t mean she had to hate herself. But somehow she found she did anyway. She wasn’t her. She was Ginerva Weasley, of course, but some part of her felt like ‘Ginny Weasley’ wasn’t the name she was meant to have. She felt like she wasn’t meant to be the weasley daughter. She felt stupid for that. Her brothers were different from her, but why was that a problem? She could be original, make her own footprints rather than follow in everyone else’s. None of her brothers were that similar. Charlie loved dragons, bill was working at a bank with goblins, Percy was irritatingly studious, the twins were tricksters, and Ron was the chosen ones second in command. But they all had one thing in common that Ginny was lacking in greatly. They were all guys. And Ginny was stuck as a girl. ‘stuck’ as a girl. What was she thinking. She was totally happy with being a girl. She’d always been a girl. A daughter. But when she looked in the mirror, the daughter wasn’t her. The daughter looked wrong.  
That was when it hit her. For the first time. But she waved it off, sure that it was nothing. There was no way. She just had to calm down, and stop making such a big deal out of nothing. Siiting back onto her bed, she rolled u; her sleeve slowly. Many of the scratches had started to scar. Part of her felt they’d looked better as scratches. The next thing she did was done completely on impulse. The rebel Weasley within her asking to do something. There were scissors in the draw beside her. She pulled them out determinedly, and grouped up her red locks in one big bunch. One snip. That was all it took. Hair splayed onto the ground as in fell from her head. And suddenly he knew. He wasn’t meant to be the Weasley daughter. He was certain of it. He wasn’t jealous of her brothers for being older, or for being ‘first’. He was jealous of them because they were all born male. And he’d suffered 14 year of wearing girls clothes in the wrong dormitory. He grabbed the scissors and took a minute to tiny up the ends. Feeling over his head, he felt proud. The cut was relatively neat. And he could feel it. He looked like his brothers. He pulled Ron’s robes from the drawer and pulled them on. They felt perfect. Elated, he stuffed the whole contense of Ginny Weasley’s trunk into his new truck. Crouching down, he looked at the letters that read ‘Ginerva Weasley’, and spelled them quickly, rearranging and modyifying the letters. Finally, he stood at the landing, bracing himself. This was the moment of truth. Would Hogwarts accept him, or just her? Carefully, he took a tentative step onto the first step. Instantly, it tilted itself to form a steep slope. Grinning ear to ear, he stepped his other foot onto the staircase and found himself sliding down the stairs at last, with his trunk now reading him new and improved name. It was time for James Weasley to face the music.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
